


Pain

by Viking_woman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Bondage, Experimental Style, F/M, Painplay, S&M, Sadness, Sexual Content, inappropriate use of magic, non-specific mage Lavellan, sub!solas, touch of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19322428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: Solas and Lavellan discover a compatible kink, and the memory lingers long after everything is over.





	Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reply to a tumblr prompt:
> 
> _You should write a Solas fanfiction when Solas is a masochist and the other person is a Sadist. That'd be interesting. ;3_
> 
> This is a little outside my normal comfort zone, so I took this opportunity to play around with style.

It had been a small thing first. She’d raked her nails down his back, digging them in. He’d winched and moaned and kissed her and fucked her. After, she’d apologized, and he’d told her there was no need. 

“You liked it?” she had asked. 

“I do,” he had admitted. 

Next time, she’d twisted his nipples, and when his hips bucked off the bed, she’d done it again. 

“You like pain,” she said, after, as they lay tangled together. “I wonder how much?”

Her eyes had sparkled with keen interest, and he had told her. It had let to a discussion later, and another. A discovery shared desires and trust. Their love was true, no matter how doomed, and what she offered – he couldn’t turn it down. 

Not then, and not now. 

Now, he is awash in pain and pleasure. His arms are tired, hanging from the ceiling by heavy ropes around his wrists. His legs are pulled apart, and he can barely touch the floor with his toes. 

She circles him, slowly. Her magic sizzles in her hands, lightning and fire. He has already tasted it. He waits for it. She will do whatever she wants to him, and he wants it. Today, she has not made him beg for it, for the pain and the bliss at her hand. 

She lashes out, lighting running across his chest, searing into his skin. He screams, and his face is wet with tears. 

“You’re so pretty like this, Solas,” she murmurs. She runs her hand down his chest, gently. He tenses, but it is just her hand sliding lower, until she grips his aching cock. He tries to thrust into her hand, but he has no leverage. She chuckles, and pumps, twice, thrice, and more, faster, and he wants, he needs – 

She lifts her hand and slams it back into his chest, her magic crackling. This time its fire, hot and white and she fills his whole world. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” she says. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

He nods, and she unties his feet first, and then his arms. He collapses into her, and she is strong enough to hold him, to drag him to her bed, where she rides him until they both come. 

“Do you need anything,” she asks afterwards, as they lay tangled together. 

“No. Yes. I need you close.”   
He is not alone with her. 

“I can do that,” she says, and kisses his shoulder. 

“Do you need anything?” he asks. She is as spent as him. 

“The same.” She kisses him again. “And I’m going to heal you in a bit, when my mana has returned.”

“Thank you.” He likes that, her magic in him, touching him. In pain or pleasure or relief, she is part of him. Close to him. 

It isn’t long before she moves and starts, kisses and magic and tenderness in all the places he hurts. He stops her, when he gets to the place she hit numerous times, just below his heart. 

“Leave it,” he says. “I would like a reminder, vhenan, for tomorrow.” 

“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she says, and her magic moves to his shoulder, his wrist. 

It will be there tomorrow, and it will leave a scar, and he will be glad of it. 

Later, when he will be alone. 

He will have walked away from her three times, steeled his heart against her love. Against his love. He will be alone, and he will be in pain. Not the pain she brought him, lovingly, her small hands against him. The pain that set him free. He will long for that. 

He will run his fingertips over the scar on his chest, and his heart will bleed. The pain she delivered will be nothing compared to the pain of missing her. Dull and unpleasant, unwelcome. He will want to return to her, and he will not. 

He will be hurting, alone, in a ruined place.


End file.
